


Coming Home to Hell

by RayreadsDestiel



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock & Ball Torture, Enemas, F/M, Gay Sex, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Knifeplay, M/M, Multi, Nathan Wesninski's A+ Parenting, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Rape, Sexist Language, Straight Sex, Torture, Vaginal Sex, all the sex, forced bondage, throatfucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-17 16:31:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14193093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayreadsDestiel/pseuds/RayreadsDestiel
Summary: My EXTREMELY GRAPHIC take on what could have happened in the Baltimore house after Neil was reunited with his father.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FireflyHannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflyHannah/gifts).



> Just like the tags say, this work of FICTION contains graphic depictions of nonconsensual sex, referenced rape of an underage child, incest, homophobia, and torture. PLEASE heed the tags. If any of these things bother you in any way, please do not read. If you feel I have missed any important tags, feel free to let me know. I do NOT condone these things in any way shape or form. 
> 
> This work has been inspired by a very special demoness, who also helped me with Neil's snarky voice.
> 
> If I haven't frightened you away yet, please enjoy this free trip to hell.

He knew.

He knew the moment he failed to open his eyes that something was wrong. Knew from the heavy feeling of dread in his chest exactly where he was.

He tried to listen.

It was quiet.

It was too quiet.

Maybe it was him.

Maybe he was broken after the car ride that was more like a trip through the gates of hell.

It would make sense, after everything he had been through.

Nathaniel Wesninski opened his eyes to a blurry rendition of the floor he’d grown up on. Basement. Basement. Basement… Baltimore.

It could’ve been ripped straight from his childhood, down to the stain he caught in the corner of his eye. Blood. His blood, actually. His father left it as a reminder after he failed to dissect a pig correctly.

He could still hear the sounds when he closed his eyes, sounds of a botched killing attempt, and the inhuman squeals of agony that had followed.

It was the end of his life as Neil the Fox, and how appropriate that it was in the place where it had all begun: the Baltimore house. His own personal hell.

The place where many men and women had been tortured while the Butcher of Baltimore did the Moriyamas’ dirty work.

It was familiar even after all these years because this room, this _house_ haunted his nightmares, the walls soundproofed to hold in screams and lined with torture implements. Things used to tear off nails, pliers for removing fingers, saws that could cut through bone, and things that he did not even want to know the purpose of and could only guess at. He could only hope he would not be finding out any time soon.

Then again, it wasn’t like his father needed them to inflict pain. The man was far too creative for that.

 “…play with Junior later. I’m sure he’s missed you all this time.”

His gaze flickered to the source of the words as they managed to penetrate the fog his mind was stuck in. His breath caught as he looked into the mirror of a failed future.

Nathan Wesninski bared down on him, flanked by his loyal guard dogs.

Loyal and vicious in equal measure, Lola and Romero Malcolm both wore smug grins as they stared at him like the hounds that had caught a fox for their master.

That was when he remembered everything.

That was when the pain flared up.

That was when he tested the rope.

His arms screamed protests that tried to escape his lips in wretched gasps. His legs buckled.

Strung up like one of those pigs.

Caught. But not silenced. Never that.

He would keep squealing until the end.

His already injured arms were beginning to hurt more from the strain of holding up his body weight, his feet barely touching the floor, so he was left dangling. His father’s handiwork. He had seen it enough times to know, he thought, his heart beginning to pound furiously as the truth of where he was sunk in.

The basement where he had learned how to use knives, and had them used on him in return.

“Daddy dearest,” He spat out when the man came into sight. “You didn’t tell me I was coming to dinner. Or that I would _be_ dinner. Didn’t mother ever teach you how to treat guests?” He shook his head in mock disappointment, knowing full well he would pay for being a smart ass, and pay dearly.

Sure enough, he watched as the man’s eyes narrowed, the precise shade of blue as his own, and the reason he had gone around with brown contacts as much as possible, so he didn’t have to see that hated face in the mirror.

“I see years on the run with that cunt have made you brave. Seems I have to teach you your place again.” He backhanded him across the burned side of his face, which knocked his head to the side and temporarily dazed him.

Once he had recovered, he tried to kick out at him, but he was easily able to dodge, to his disappointment.

“Do that again, and I’ll slit the tendons in your legs. You’ll have to crawl to your new masters by the time I’m done with you.”

It was no idle threat, Nathaniel knew well from experience, so he didn’t do it again. But he still had his voice, and he intended to use it.

“Aww, Daddy. You’re gonna sell me again? Don’t you know by now I’ll just run away and end up right back here tied up and swinging like a piece of meat while you play with me? It’s a vicious cycle.” He shook his head. “I thought you wanted to keep me this time. You really know how to let a boy down.”

“Where’s the whore, Nathaniel? I don’t see her with you…” The bastard had the nerve to pretend to look for her. Nathaniel wanted nothing more than to stab his eyes out with his own knife.

“Dead. Almost two years ago. Cali border. I buried her and kept going.” He said, spitting at the man’s feet and receiving a wad of spit to the face in return.

“ _So_ sorry to disappoint you, Daddy.” As he spoke, he catalogued his injuries, starting with his burned face and working his way down. There were plenty, from his ruined tattoo (which he had wanted gone, but not THAT badly) to the slices and burns that lined his arms, continuing down to his fingers.

Nathaniel’s entire body swayed from the sharp punch that caught his eye socket and his lip at the same time. His fists were too fucking big was the problem, he thought, tasting blood. He spat it out, then looked up at the bastard, a mocking smirk stinging his split lip.

“She hit harder than you.”

That earned him another punch, making his entire body sway from the ropes this time as he forced a painful laugh. Make that two black eyes. Lovely. He would be hearing it from Andrew in the unlikely event he survived long enough to see him again.

Andrew…

‘You were amazing.’ The last words he had gotten to say to the man. He wouldn’t understand what he had meant until later, when it was too late. He would be furious.

His attention was jerked back to the basement by a ‘fatherly’ pat on his burned cheek, a knife glinting inches from his eye. “Maybe I should cut your tongue out. You don’t need it for what the Moriyamas want you for.”

The knife traced down his skin as he spoke, making him grit his teeth against a scream and fight to hold still. He had learned the hard way what happened when he moved early on in his childhood.

“Would certainly make you more… pleasant to deal with.” The bastard mused, the knife tracing rather close to his eyes. He needed those for exy, so he was safe in that regard, at least. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Mother was right to run from you, you really are a sick fuck.” Nathaniel said.

“That sounds like something the whore would say.” He replied, the man’s eyes narrowed as he pressed the knife to the burn mark. Nathaniel felt rather sick, already imagining how much it would hurt…

And then he did it, sliding the knife under his skin and slicing the burn off.

Nathaniel screamed, and then threw up, mostly clear liquid as there was nothing in his stomach, shaking violently and spitting out what he could. Nathan laughed somewhere in the background, but his vision was blurred by tears so he couldn’t see him.

“Do go on, tell me what other gems of wisdom she passed on to you before I smashed her ribs together, Nathaniel.”

“She said you’re a waste of space that’s only good for being Kengo’s guard dog. I disagreed with her. Didn’t think you were even worth that.”

Nathan gave a cold chuckle that sent shivers down Nathaniel’s spine, but he fought not to react, facing the man with his head held high, cut and burned and with not one but _two_ black eyes, daring the bastard to do his worst.

“You aren’t worth the sperm it took to make you.” He snarled, before leaning in to lick the gaping wound he had created, making Nathaniel screw his eyes shut and shudder in disgust. “Or the time I had to lay with that whore to get her knocked up.”

Then he seemed to decide that cutting him up wasn’t good enough anymore, using his knife to slice off his orange and white Foxes jacket, followed by the rest of his clothing. “But that’s okay, we’re going to make sure my investment in you gets paid back, today. Now.”

Nathaniel couldn’t help it; he jerked in shock at what he was implying, which is when the knife slipped and cut a long gash down his side. “You forgot my first lesson. What a shame…” He said as he hissed, blood running down into his boxers before they too were stripped away.

Confirming his worst fears.

But still not enough to shut him up. If he could taunt Riko Moriyama on national television, he could stand up to the old bastard. “And all this time I thought you loved Mommy. She must have broke your miserable old heart when she took me and ran. Poor Daddy…”

What could he say? His father brought out the devil in him. Probably because the Butcher of Baltimore _was_ the devil.

His knife glinted in front of Nathaniel again, the bastard making sure he saw it before trailing it down his body, from his throat to his chest, circling his nipples and pressing the point into each _just_ hard enough to draw a pinprick of blood. Then the knife moved down around his thighs, and he couldn’t help but flinch back, cutting a sharp nick in his upper thigh.

“Better hold still, Nathaniel.” The knife made its way around the inside of each thigh, then onto his groin. “You _really_ don’t want the knife to slip right now, hm?” He laughed.

Then he did something Nathaniel had been hoping desperately that he wouldn’t.

He cupped his flaccid cock in one hand and trailed the knife along its length, Nathaniel scarcely daring to even breathe as the skin there was cut. Even the shallowest cuts were agonizing. The worst thing he had done to him to date.

“Motherfucker.” He spat, jaw locked and gaze icy. “Having fun?”

“No, I’m having more fun imagining how much _this_ is gonna hurt.”

He moved out of Nathaniel’s sight for a handful of seconds, leaving him to wonder and dread what was coming next. He brought back a bottle of something, the acrid smell of chemicals he was somehow familiar with burning his nose. Rubbing alcohol? Something like that. Which he then poured over the cuts.

Nathaniel’s eyes widened, and then he screamed at the top of his lungs. It felt as if acid had been poured over the most sensitive part of his body. Tears welled up and fell, making him scream more as they _slowly_ rolled down his cheeks, drawing the pain out as he cried and begged for the pain to stop. His body was still wracked with occasional tremors even after the burning had subsided.

And then… then, the bastard held the bottle up again. “Just a little more. I don’t know where you’ve been, after all. Gotta make sure you’re clean.” He mocked, and this time it was _worse_ , because he knew exactly what to expect. Anticipation was a bitch.

He tipped the bottle slowly, practically drop by drop, and Nathaniel screamed as the rubbing alcohol contacted his skin, searing him after an endless second of waiting. His voice went hoarse with cursing the bastard to hell and back in every language he knew, thrashing around a second time.

The pain must have made him space out for a second or so, because when he came back, the man had his cock in his hand and he was stroking it, smirking with such a look of sick self-satisfaction that Nathaniel wanted to carve it right off him with his own knife.

“What, got nothing else to say?” He asked, after the last echo of his screams had faded out, amplified by the basement walls.

Those awful eyes that made him want to shatter every mirror he looked into flicked up to him, the smirk pulling even wider at whatever he saw in his face. Oh, Nathan had obviously enjoyed that, the sick fuck.

Nathaniel changed his mind; the rubbing alcohol was the worst thing he had done to him, to date. And hopefully he wouldn’t give him cause to change his mind again. But he didn’t have very high hopes for that.

“Don’t you want to call me _Daddy_ again, Nathaniel?” He pulled his hand back from his cock, only to give it a harsh slap. His cock was even more sensitive from the torture it had already been subjected to, so he screamed again, followed by more curses.

But of course, he still didn’t know when to shut his mouth. He had inherited the bastard’s temperament, and it showed. “May-maybe if you weren’t such a prick all the time, people wouldn’t want to run away from you, you useless waste of space.”

Okay, maybe antagonizing the man with the knife was a bad idea, but Nathaniel was going to die anyway, or else be handed over to Riko Moriyama to torture, so he might as well go out with a bang, right?

Nathan sighed as if in disappointment, but his eyes fairly sparkled with sadistic delight, so Nathaniel wasn’t fooled in the slightest. Not that he would have been anyway. He wasn’t surprised when he was punched again, this time in the stomach, drawing another scream as his body tried to fold in on itself.

But he still wouldn’t shut up. Wymack and Andrew (and probably everyone else) would say that he couldn’t shut the fuck up to save his life.

“It’s always the same with you. You’ll cut me, threaten to break my legs, etcera etcera. Yawn. How boring. At least make it worth my while to come down here and visit, y’know?”

“Oh, Nathaniel, I didn’t realize I was boring you. I’ll endeavor to make things more interesting tomorrow. Enjoy your night.” The man told him, then left the basement, the door shutting behind him with a snap of finality that Nathaniel didn’t trust at all.

He kept waiting anxiously for either Nathan or worse, Lola, to come back, but no one did. He was left alone hanging from the ceiling with nothing to do but think of what tortures awaited him next before he finally lost consciousness.

Only to jerk awake a few minutes later from the pain.

Yeah, it was going to be a long night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get much worse for poor Neil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, please heed the warnings. Things are much worse in this chapter. It contains a graphic incestuous rape scene, implied rape of an underage person, torture, homophobic/sexist language. Know your limits, people.
> 
> Get your ticket to hell stamped here and board in an orderly fashion. Plenty of room for everyone. :)

Nathaniel’s eyes slowly opened to a blurry ceiling, which made for a change at least, he thought sardonically, his head tilted back to rest on his bound arms, so naturally that was stiff and hurting too.

There were no windows in the room, and no way to tell otherwise what time it might be, but he could tell from the painful emptiness in his stomach that he had been out for at least several hours this time, making it at least a solid day since he had eaten last. His body had done what little it could to rest and recover from the abuse while he was unconscious, but he was still exhausted.

The stiffness from all his injuries, the knife wounds, the burns, the punches, had all set in. Even without the ropes keeping him strung him up, Nathaniel had a feeling he would barely be able to move.

Then he realized why he had woken up, when he heard footsteps coming down the basement stairs. Nathan’s footsteps. Conditioned to be afraid of that sound, his heart beat fiercely against his ribcage as the man came into sight, an actual smile on his face for once.

Oh yes, this would not be good.

“Ah, good, Nathaniel. You’re already awake. Ready for another fun day?”

“You bet, Daddy.” Nathaniel fired back without missing a beat, the man’s smile widening in appreciation of the fight still left in him, and how he would have another crack at breaking him, no doubt. Sick bastard.

Nathaniel’s hatred of him only increased when he saw that the man was well-rested, showered and shaved and wearing a clean suit. Luxuries that a prisoner like him was not afforded. He would have liked to slit his throat with that razor, he thought darkly, glaring.

And then he pulled out a crinkled little packet, making sure to shove it in Nathaniel’s face so he could see what was in store for him. His eyes focused on the blurry shape for a moment, and then he understood, his stomach dropping to his feet as he shook his head. No, no, this couldn’t be happening.

“Father? That’s just… no… why would… why would you…”

Nathaniel was rendered speechless, shaking his head fiercely until he felt dizzy and jerking against the ropes again. It reopened the wounds on his wrists from struggling, but he didn’t give a shit even as blood ran down his arms.

He had to stop him, couldn’t let him do this… No, no, no…

He could only watch with a numbing horror as he wheeled over a table, free of instruments, at least, but that wasn’t as much comfort as it should have been. The ropes around his wrists were slackened and he dropped onto it with a painful thud, narrowly avoiding cracking his head on the rough surface as he was dragged right to the edge.

“I’m your son, Father! You can’t… can’t do this.” _Please. Oh god, please, let someone, anyone find him. Andrew._

Nathaniel wanted Andrew to rescue him so badly it hurt.

But no one came.

Nathan did something over his head, and the ropes pulled taut again, stretching his arms out above his head. He kicked out at him, struggling uselessly, desperate to prevent himself from the inevitable rape, but the man caught his legs easily. He forced them down with brute strength even as Nathaniel kicked, using more rope to bind each to the table leg, keeping him spread open.

Helpless.

On display.

Nathaniel had never felt more like an animal or a piece of meat.

He snarled and bared his teeth as he heard the sound of a zipper.

Heard the condom wrapper being opened. “See, I _wanted_ to do this much sooner, fuck the attitude right out of you when you were younger, but I hear you’re a faggot now and you get around.”

Finally, he found his voice again. “You’d be safe. Turns out my partner dislikes sex.” He replied, rolling his eyes. It was weak, but it was a response. It was _something,_ when all he wanted to do was curl up and _beg_ him not to go through with this.

The bastard would only enjoy that.

“Dislikes sex, or was raped too many times by his brother to enjoy it? Yes, I know all about your little faggot friend.”

“You know, doing this kinda makes you a faggot--”

_Crack._

A fist struck the side of his head, telling him that Nathan didn’t appreciate his humor, and if he didn’t have a concussion before he sure as fuck had one now.

“Buuut I suppose you don’t get laid very often, so you have to take what you can get.” Nathaniel spat out, finishing what he had been saying before he had been rudely interrupted while the man stepped closer to the table. As if to confirm his suspicions, nausea was imminent. He threw up, just water and stomach acid, head turned to the side, so he wouldn’t choke to death on his own bile.

And wasn’t that a pleasant thought?

Unable to help himself, he flinched away as he felt something touch him. Cold steel that he vaguely recognized as the point of a knife right before it was thrust into him. It was the hilt, of course, and thankfully not the blade as he had been led to be believe. But that didn’t stop it from hurting like hell.

He threw his concussed head back and _screamed,_ while Nathan just laughed.

True to his word, he and Andrew had never been intimate. They had kissed, but never gone further that. There were too many issues between them to make things easy.

But oh, how he regretted that now, as Nathan pulled the knife out of him and drove it back in, fucking him with it and laughing all the while.

“Gonna fuck the gay outta me, Daddy? This might be your only chance.” Nathaniel mocked through tightly clenched teeth as the man set the knife aside.

Sick dread that was a close friend of his by now settled in his stomach as he felt his cockhead kiss his hole, bleeding now from being fucked with a knife.

Oh god… Why? Why couldn’t the bastard just play with knives and be fucking happy with that? Why did he have to do _this_?

Then the man was pressing into him, none too gently, and Nathaniel screamed again, back arching in agony as he fought against the ropes, trying to go anywhere, anywhere at all. Anything to get away from the all-encompassing stretch of unused muscles as little by little Nathan forced his way into his resisting body.

It felt like he was being torn in two.

He wished he had his legs free, so he could at least have a fighting chance.

He’d definitely had a good reason not to swing. This was _horrific._ If he ever made it out of this, he was never having sex again.

“You’re tighter than I expected. Maybe he really hasn’t been taking care of your needs.” He taunted him, driving himself into his body, over and over.

Then the asshole managed to increase Nathaniel’s hatred of him again when he spoke, mentioning Andrew again.

“Don’t worry, Nathaniel, when I finish with you, the faggot will be dealt with, for daring to take what should have been _mine._ ” He snarled, teeth gritted from the strain.

“I will end your miserable life if you try.” Coming from Nathaniel, who was bleeding, burned, and now being raped by his own father, it was a promise. It wasn’t like Andrew had taken anything important. They’d barely even kissed, never mind progressing further than that.

He thought of Andrew’s ‘yes or no’s’. Thought of the key to the house in Columbia he still had in his pants pocket, and for a moment, it warmed him. Warmed a place Nathan couldn’t touch with his knives, or even his cock.

Nathan laughed, seemingly in delight over how angry he had gotten. “He and I will spend some time, very similar to this, getting acquainted. I daresay he’s used to a cock in his ass.”

“Don’t you _dare_ touch him. I will _never_ stop until I see you dead if you so much as go near him. Count on it.” He spat out.

Andrew, who had done nothing to warrant Nathan’s abuse.

Andrew, who had been through enough abuse in his life.

Nathaniel would protect Andrew if it was the last thing he ever did.

“Oh, Nathaniel. You’ll be too busy with your new masters to worry about your mutt.” He told him with false pity as he withdrew and thrust into him again.

He would cut off Nathan’s dick and shove it down his throat if he so much as _tried_ to go near him, choke the sick fuck to death with it, he thought, holding onto his burning fury as he pulled back and thrust into him again.

Holding onto his hatred.

It was the only thing that kept him going as he kept spiraling further and further into darkness.

Into pain so raw he felt like an animal.

“Shh, want to know a secret?” Nathan said ‘comfortingly’ over the sound of his screams. “I’m not even halfway in yet.”

What? No. Surely that was impossible. He had avoided looking down, because he didn’t want to see his own rape. But he made himself look then, and was horrified to see that he was right, along with a good deal of blood slicking his thighs, making everything wet.

He could feel it squish whenever he moved.

It was gross and painful, and he could feel his body giving up. It would give up long before his mind would.

He finally managed to get all the way inside of him with one last violent shove, his wiry pubic hair matted with blood brushing his skin and making him shudder in disgust. Then he started to slowly withdraw, clearly wanting to prolong the agony.

Nathaniel wasn’t sure what hurt more at that point, him pushing in or him pulling out. He screamed himself hoarse for both.

Then, there was a movement’s reprieve. The bastard didn’t withdraw, but he held still, pulling back enough to look down at him, apparently liking what he saw. He leaned down, crushing his body beneath his heavier one as he licked his tears, licked the wound on his face, making him shudder in disgust and pain before he resumed thrusting again.

Violently. Furiously. Trying to grind their bodies together into one. Pounding into him hard enough to make the ropes overhead creak and the table shake.

He could feel himself cracking with every thrust.

He needed this to be over. Needed to push him over the edge.

“S-so violent, Daddy. Maybe you should’ve tra-trained me better. I would have rolled over and begged for it.” He managed to say, voice wrecked from screaming and crying.

The bastard liked that idea, smirking down at him with a look that made Nathaniel want to return the favor. With a metal baseball bat, perhaps.

“It’s not too late to start begging, Junior. Maybe I’ll go easier on you if you do…” He was taunting him with something they both knew would never give him.

“I won’t beg. It’s pathetic. You won’t go easy on me, you never did.”

He seemed to appreciate the fight in him, if only because he still had something to break, smiling down at him nastily.

“Suit yourself.” He started to pull out all the way to make his ruined hole cling to him, before shoving in again. Over and over and over. It was almost worse than the continuous fucking. “Don’t you want the pain to stop?” A slow thrust. “ _Beg_ me to stop, boy. Beg me not to hurt you anymore…” Another. He laughed at the inhuman sound of pain he made.

“Your whore of a mother used to beg for you. Did everything she could think of to keep my interest.”

Faster thrusts. His breathing picked up. Nathaniel needed this to be over.

“I’m sure your faggot begged his brother. Do you think it did any good? Or did he just _like_ it? Hm, Nathaniel?” Words punctuated by a violent thrust, but it was the words that did it.

The hopelessness of the situation.

He could feel the moment the cracks widened, threatening to shatter completely.

“Daddy, please. Daddy stop, please. I’ll be good, I didn’t mean t- please… stop, you’re hurting me…” He said, voice soft and weak. He didn’t even have the energy to scream anymore.

He wasn’t pulling out anymore, just grinding into him continuously, breaths fast and heavy in Nathaniel’s ear as he covered him completely.

“Why are you hurting me, Daddy?” He whimpered like a child, and that was all it took.

He could feel a liquid heat filling him somewhere down below, and he shuddered in disgust, so fucking glad for the condom. Glad that his father thought he was a whore who slept around. The alternative was too disgusting to consider. His seed _inside_ of him… No.

“See? I told you Daddy would stop if you begged him…” He said in a horrible baby voice, like the one adults used to talk to small children. He cringed in disgust and turned his face away, unwilling to look at him anymore.

He felt disgusting, and used, and empty. Like someone had scooped out everything that made him _him,_ leaving only a husk of his former self behind.

He pulled out of him roughly and stuffed the used condom into his mouth, making him gag. He could taste the bitter cum, along with something that must have been his own ass and of course blood. It was a disgusting combination.

“Why don’t you clean that for me, Natty?” He suggested almost sweetly, with another ‘fatherly’ pat on the cheek, made even worse somehow by what he had just done. But his tone left him in no doubt that he had any say in the matter. So, he licked it clean, trying not to throw up again, telling himself that it was nothing.

And compared to what he had just went through, it was.

Just a little more humiliation and degradation.

While he was doing that, the man was readjusting the ropes, yanking his arms up in the air again, the rest of his battered body following as the table was shoved out of the way.

He picked up the knife again, making Nathaniel’s stomach clench in dread. He was honestly surprised he could still feel anything, but he supposed that was the point.

Nathaniel Wesninski’s body was built to withstand suffering.

How much, remained to be seen.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lola and Romero join the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on writing out a whole chapter involving Lola and Romero playing with Neil, but the muse did not cooperate, unfortunately.

Nathan walked behind him, which Nathaniel immediately hated, as he couldn’t see where the bastard was or what he was doing. But then, he didn’t need to, as it was all made clear when he pressed the knife to the skin of his lower back, where people typically put tattoos. Tramp stamps, Nathaniel thought he had heard Nicky call them once.

He tried to brace himself for it, but that was the funny thing about pain. One could never really prepare.

His teeth tore into his already split lip as the knife pressed down, cutting into his skin in what felt like a straight line, followed by a curved one. The places where the lines connected was sheer agony.

What was the bastard doing, writing something on his back?

“This is just a little something to commemorate our time together, Nathaniel. Shame you don’t have a cunt, or I would have left you a better present for the Moriyamas to deal with.” He laughed, confirming Nathaniel’s suspicions that he was writing something.

The question remained, what was it? Not that it truly mattered. But he was curious, if only in a morbid sense.

“I don’t think they would have liked that very much. You see, exy players can’t really play when they’re pregnant.” He spat out the condom to say, speaking to the man as if he was stupid.

“They would have dealt with it, I’m sure.” He sounded entirely unconcerned, but the knife pressed down harder as a result. Nathaniel gritted his teeth and tried to bear it for as long as possible without screaming.

“There.” He finally said, an endless amount of time later, wiping the blood off the knife on the inside of Nathaniel’s thigh, which of course meant he had to slip it between them. The new cuts were stinging and smarting, warm droplets of blood running down his back to pool in the dip of his ass.

“Can you guess what I wrote, Nathaniel? If you get it right, maybe I’ll leave you alone to rest for a while. Wouldn’t you like that?”

More than anything in the world, but he didn’t have a fucking clue what the prick would have written. He couldn’t focus on anything but the white-hot pain burning through him, inside and out.

“Oh well. You’ll see soon enough. Or Lola can tell you.”

No, no, no. Not Lola. He had a long-ingrained childhood fear of her, as he had seen her more than he had ever seen Nathan.

She had been the one to teach him how to use knives, and teach him what happened when he messed up, or failed to learn.

“You’re so fucking… _fucked_ _up_. No wonder you’re just their butcher. It’s all you’re good for. ”

That earned him another punch, but it wasn’t like his concussion could get worse, he thought dimly with the part of him that was still separate from everything.

The part that was, as of yet, untouched and unbroken by the violence.

“Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Junior.” He told him, before shoving the knife into his torn and bleeding hole, still hilt first, not that Nathaniel cared anymore. Maybe the puncture wounds would be enough to kill him. He could only hope.

“Here, hold this for me. You have some friends who have been eager to visit you. I’ll tell them you’re ready for some company.”

And with those words, he sealed his fate.

“Daddy don’t leave me with her. Daddy, please, I don’t want her, please…” He begged, easily deciding on the lesser of two evils as the man only chuckled and left his sight again. He could hear him walking up the basement stairs, the creak of the old wooden door, then… nothing.

Lola was coming. He had to escape.

Had to… _escape_! He pulled against the ropes, kicking furiously. He had to get away before she came down here.

A few minutes passed, during which his tired, battered body refused to give up, kicking and struggling with every ounce of strength he had left and sobbing all the while.

Then he heard her voice before he saw her, the dreaded clicking of her heels drawing closer. No.

“Have fun, but try not to kill him. The Moriyamas want their little toy.” He could hear Nathan telling her, her musical laughter and a reply following before she walked into his sight, her deranged brother in tow.

They were the worst. They could make Nathan look pleasant.

Lola tsked as she reached him, eyes alight with malicious glee as she trailed sharp nails along his face, making him flinch away. “Now, Junior, don’t be like that, or you might hurt my feelings.” She told him, her grip turning violent as her eyes narrowed. “I might get mean if my feelings are hurt…”

Her gaze raked up and down his naked body with a dangerous hunger, leaving him feeling even more exposed.

Helpless. Just like he had been as a child.

“You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

He shook his head quickly, eyes wide and terrified, and she laughed, the musical sound of it grating to his ears after years spent hearing it when she tortured him. All in the name of ‘teaching’ him, supposedly.

Nathan also laughed, giving them an approving nod and Nathaniel one last warning to behave before he turned and left the basement, leaving him with his worst nightmares.

 

Lola and Romero circled Nathaniel like two buzzers around a corpse, trying to decide which piece of flesh to rip off first. And then they struck.

Lola untied him from the ropes holding him up, allowing him to drop heavily to the ground.

“Get up.” She told him impatiently, kicking at him with her heeled shoes when he didn’t move fast enough for his liking. He tried to push himself up, but all he could manage was his hands and knees.

“Useless. Can’t even stand on your own anymore, can you, _Daddy’s whore?”_

Why had she said it like that?

He must have looked confused, because she smirked, kicking him again to flip him over then bringing the spike of her heel down on his chest.

“Oh, you haven’t seen your new tattoo yet? It’s perfect for you.” She laughed, pressing into his ribs until he was afraid the point would pierce the skin.  He reached up to grab the spike, which prompted her to kick him again, even harder this time.

“Maybe I should burn my name into you, so you never forget me.” She purred as she stomped down on his hand this time, looking intrigued by the idea, until Romero interrupted.

But only to take his own turn at breaking him.

 

Nathaniel was on his knees on the floor, arms restrained behind his back and his face forced up by Lola, who was squatting over him and moaning in pleasure while Romero fucked him violently from behind.

She was hardly letting him pull away to breathe anymore, threatening to keep him there until he made her cum even if he suffocated, but that was when Nathan returned.

Nathaniel had never before felt _grateful_ for the fucking asshole.

“Enough, you’re going to kill him with your cunt.” Nathan told her, sounding almost fond, at which point she reluctantly let him go, and Romero pulled out of him roughly. They left him to flop over like a used and now broken toy that no one wanted to play with. His face was sticky with Lola’s pleasure and the taste of her was thick on his tongue. She had burned her name into his side, and he could feel it as if the lighter she had used was still pressed to his skin.

But they left, and that was the important part.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel learns how to please his father.

Now it was just the two of them alone in the basement together.

“Now, Junior, you have a choice. You can either stay down here, or you can come to bed to me, as my whore. A nice replacement for your mother, don’t you think?” Nathan told him, pressing into the new cuts Lola had left on him.

He flinched away from the fingers, his defenses lowered by everything Lola and Romero had done to him. Lola. She could come back if Nathan left him down here. She wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation.

“Let me come with you…?” He whispered faintly. He would likely be back to his snarky, defiant self in the next day or so. But for now, he was tired, uncomfortable, and beaten down.

At least he’d be relatively safer with his father. And a bit braver. Lola took his fight away. Nathan made him want to fight more, just to spite the bastard.

“But you’re filthy. I’m not sure I want you in my bed. Maybe you should convince me first that you’re worth the effort.” He bent down as he spoke, unlocking the handcuffs.

Nathaniel couldn’t help a sigh of relief, bringing his arms back into a natural position and rubbing at them until Nathan locked them in place again. But he didn’t complain; at least they weren’t behind his back anymore.

“Go on. Or maybe you can keep Lola company for the night. Let her teach you how to eat her out with a little encouragement from her knives. What’s a little more filth, right?” He laughed.

Nathan wanted a whore.

Nathaniel wanted to be out of the basement, away from Lola.

He took a moment to consider that before he was crawling towards his father, clumsily, with the handcuffs, but he ignored the discomfort in favor of pressing himself against the man’s leg. All shame gone as he looked up at him.

“Let me convince you then, Daddy.” He mumbled, leaning up further so he could mouth the bulge in the front of his suit pants. He had obviously gotten hard from watching the other two, Nathaniel thought, barely suppressing a shudder.

His handcuffed hands came up to try to get the zipper down, and Nathan just watched him, amused by his struggles until he finally pushed them away and did it himself. Then he didn’t move, simply standing there, looking down at him.

He obviously expected him to do all the work, so he took him in his mouth, registering the taste of skin and a musky scent but after everything that had happened to him tonight, he didn’t care. He just sucked, bobbing his head up and down like the whore Nathan kept calling him.

This would be his fucking legacy when the Moriyamas finally got ahold of him (and wouldn’t that be a relief?) and realized what Nathan had done.

Then where would he be? Nathaniel Wesninski, glorified whore?

He glared up at the man with hatred, but he never misbehaved.

“So you _can_ behave, under the right threats. I’ll make sure to pass that on to your new masters.” He told him, apparently waiting for him to act up. It was no secret that he liked it when he did.

“Then again… you don’t look very enthusiastic.” He mused, after some time. “ _Beg_ me to rape you or I’ll shove my biggest knife up your greedy ass and leave you down here for Lola to play with.”

No! Nathaniel whimpered at the threat, looking up at him pleadingly, which the man seemed to like even more, as he bucked his hips and started to fuck his face. With his hands cuffed Nathaniel could do nothing but take it, opening his mouth further for the assault and hating himself just a little more when the bastard pulled back.

He didn’t need any prompting to speak right away, tears in his eyes from the rough face fucking as he looked up at him. “Please, Daddy, I want you to rape me. I want you to rape me and use me any way you want.” He begged, feeling sick, and thinking of Andrew again.

Had Drake forced him to beg like this?

“I’ll be good. I’ll be _so_ good for you, Daddy. Wanna go with you so you can rape me.” It was horrifically hard for him to say, but he did. He didn’t have a choice. “Want you to rape me all night.” He begged and pleaded, lapping at his cock between words, anything to try and win Nathan over.

“I’m sorry I was a bad son. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for you. I’m sorry mommy took me away, Daddy, please…” He barely even knew what he was saying anymore, forcing it all out like it was a poison inside of him that he needed to get out.

And it seemed to be working. Nathan grabbed him by the hair and yanked him onto his cock, forcing it down his throat while he choked and tried not to throw up.

“Beg. Again.” He commanded when he had let him go.

“I want—want you to put your cock in me and use me like mommy…”

That did it, finally. He let go of his hair, pushed him back roughly, and went to get the hose. The rough blast of water was freezing, and painful against his injuries, but he didn’t dare complain.

As if looking for a reaction, Nathan then walked around him with the hose and sprayed his ass. He jumped, but endured it, knowing he would at least be in a bed soon and out of this freezing basement.

Even when he forced the hose inside of him and began to fill his insides with water.

Until the cramps began.

Then he was squirming, and crying, and begging him, having never even imagined that such a horrific thing was possible. “ _Ah,_ no, please Daddy, it hurts, please…” He could literally _feel_ his stomach expanding before he finally shut the water off.

It came out of him in a humiliating flood that just made him cry harder, just when he had thought there was nothing left for the man to do to him. The realization that he had been wrong made him crack just a little bit more as Nathan finally picked him up.

He tossed his dripping body over his shoulder, splaying a hand on his ass to keep him in place as he strode up the basement stairs without even breathing heavily.

Nathaniel was convinced the man wasn’t human.

 

The thought was further confirmed when they reached, not his father’s room, but his own.

“Recognize it, Junior? So many happy memories here, hm?”

Nathaniel could not say he had any happy memories in this room.

Being here just served to highlight how truly disturbed the man was, particularly when he caught the lecherous grin on the bastard’s face that soon turned to anger.

“I’ll tell you my happy memories in this room. Opening this fucking door to discover that you and the cunt were gone.” He growled, taking a tight hold of his chin and forcing him to look around the room.

It gave him chills to see that everything was _exactly the same_ as when he had lived there. It was almost as if he had only stepped out of the room for a few minutes rather than many years. His fucking sweater was still hanging folded over his chair.

“Then having to explain to the Moriyamas that I was bested by a bitch and her whelp!” He was evidently still furious over that, his grip on his face turning harsh as he shook him roughly, before shoving him away. Unable to catch himself with the handcuffs, he rolled onto the floor with a painful thump.

“You humiliated me, Nathaniel. So you better start making me _happy,_ you worthless piece of shit, or you’ll spend the rest of your _pathetic_ life in that basement.” He spat.

It was a struggle to pick himself up again, a struggle to carry on, but he did, kneeling between his legs as he laid back on the bed, clearly expecting Nathaniel to service him again. He was a whore for the night, after all.

He took his cock in his mouth without any prompting, beginning to think of his mother with a bitter hatred for doing this all to him. She had _forced_ him to run, even when he cried and screamed at her to go back as they drove away. This was _her_ fault. Maybe he would have been better off with Riko, though it was doubtful.

At least then he wouldn’t have been subjected to Lola.

Wouldn’t be here with Nathan.

Damn the woman for doing this to him.

He looked up at his father as he sucked, trying to plead with him with his eyes.

“You’re awful at this. I’ve had $5 whores who suck better than you.” Nathan finally said impatiently, shoving him away again after he had tried his best to please him and slapping him in the face with his cock.

“Did your faggot never teach you to suck cock?” He sneered at him, slapping him with his cock again as Nathaniel tried to take it in his mouth, desperate for the man to cum already and leave him the fuck alone. “It’s time you learn. Open your mouth.”

Nathaniel did, and he spat in it.

“Swallow and say thank you.”

 He shuddered slightly in disgust, but did, opening his mouth again so he could see it was gone, like the women did in the few pornos he had tried to watch before it became obvious he wasn’t interested in any of them.

“Thank you.” He gritted out. Would the bastard say ‘thank you’ when he slit his fucking throat? No, because he’d be gurgling on his own lifeblood.

Then he motioned for him to try again, as if the dick thought it was enough to teach him anything, but he did, suspecting the man just wanted to watch him humiliate himself.

He was so, so exhausted, and the real torture was that it seemed endless. He had to continue, for however long the man wanted him to, and he was an experienced enough torturer not to push him past the point of passing out.

Just to the brink. Repeatedly, which he demonstrated when he yanked on his hair in a clear sign to open his mouth wider and started fucking his face again, thrusting his hips up while Nathaniel gagged violently and struggled, the need for air instinctive no matter how much of the fight had been beaten out of him.

He was crying again by the time he let him go, not that he had ever entirely stopped, eyes red and puffy and stinging by now from all the tears he had shed. There must have been enough of them by now to fill this whole room, he thought dramatically.

“See, most cunts won’t suck past their gag reflex, like your mother.” He explained, with the air of a father teaching their son an important life lesson, right before he pulled him in to start fucking his throat again, ignoring the gurgling sounds he made as his face was pounded. “The _good_ ones,” he ground his hips into his face, “the good ones go beyond it.”

The room started to go fuzzy around Nathaniel, and just when he thought he might pass out, the bastard finally let him go. He collapsed on his side, face resting on the bed for a few moments as he struggled to start breathing normally again.

“Back on, whore.” He yanked him up again by a fistful of hair, smashing his face down on his cock which provoked another round of gagging. “This is what happens when you can’t suck worth a damn.”

And again, he held him to the point of passing out, made worse by the way he pinched his nose shut until even his struggles died down and he went limp and unresponsive.

“…keep doing this until you pass out, Natty-whore, and then keep using your holes. It’s what you’re good for, after all.” He sneered somewhere above him when the world came back into focus. “You won’t be able to talk back when I get done here. Should have done this first.” The bastard laughed.

Nathaniel tried to suck again, desperately wanting it all to be over with, but he couldn’t get enough air to even do that, and it made him choke that much faster. He believed his words as darkness started to eat away at his vision, spots swimming in front of him.

His last thought was that he wouldn’t kill him because he belonged to the Moriyamas.


	5. Lola Strikes Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm alive!  
> First of all, a very sincere apology to my readers. The last chapter I worked on was a real struggle (though I guess it didn't help that I refused to look at it for a while) but all of your kudos brought me back to finally finish it and hopefully wrap up this story that got way out of hand. Thank you so much for all your support and encouragement and sticking out the wait with me. Without further ado, I bring you the next TWO chapters, and what may or may not be the end of Neil's journey. ;)

He woke up sometime later with his hands cuffed to the headboard and a nasty but familiar taste in his mouth, as well as something sticky dried all over his face that he didn’t have to see to know what it was. His throat was also sore as hell, which was to be expected.

As he did every time he woke up, a habit from his childhood, (and what a disturbing habit that was) he catalogued his injuries, working his way down. Head: suspected concussion, cuts, burns, bruises. Arms, legs, torso, back, more cuts and burns and bruises. Nothing broken or dislocated as far as he could tell from the limited range of motion the handcuffs allowed.

Sunlight was streaming in from the windows, telling him that he had survived another night. Survived two nights in this hell so far. Two nights that had felt like an eternity.

Which meant there was a _chance,_ no matter how slim, of making it back home to Andrew and Nicky and Kevin, and even the rest of the Foxes. Home.

It was the only thing that kept him going at this point.

When the direction of the light had changed, he heard the door to his room creak open, and an unfamiliar man walked in, making him flinch away, and try to curl himself up protectively. He immediately suspected the worst, but all the man did was unlock one cuff and pull him into a sitting position, so he could force a bottle of water into his hand.

“Drink.”

He spared a moment to consider drugs, then decided that there was no pleasure to be found for Nathan or Lola there, so the water was probably safe. Probably. But the moment he had caught sight of it, he needed it. He gulped down the lukewarm water as fast as possible, several precious droplets running down his chin and neck as he emptied the bottle, then coughed.

The man took it back without saying another word and handed him a hunk of bread. He tore into it, noting as he did so that his jaw was also sore.

He put a pan under him to use the bathroom, and he did so grudgingly, grimacing in pain at his torn hole when he tried to expel his bowels. It hurt, but so did everything else, and the man was surprisingly patient with him while he did his business, then took the pan away. He _almost_ felt bad for what he did next when he came back to redo the handcuffs, which is when Nathaniel kicked out at him with his all might, sending the shocked man flying while the door was banged open again and Lola was there with a knife.

“Bad Junior.” She tsked, while his heart pounded frantically at the sight of her. She held a knife to his cock, which caused him to stop struggling immediately, allowing her to cuff his other hand again. “Hope you enjoyed your food, ‘cause that’s the last you’re getting for a while.”

She used her knife to slowly trace a few new cuts over him for the trouble he had caused, seeming to be waiting for something as she kept eyeing him, finally getting impatient and forcing a large pill down his throat, plugging his nose and holding his mouth closed until he was forced to swallow it, or drown.

Worse than the questionable pill he had just been given, he saw that she had another bottle of rubbing alcohol with her, which she placed on the nightstand, just out of reach unless she leaned over.

“Too bad you couldn’t behave for once. Can’t give you anything nice.” She told him, smirking. She straddled his lap, sharp nails scratching his cock as she stroked him roughly, impatiently, which was when he started to feel weird.

Heat coiled low in his belly, a feeling he associated with Andrew before this, though he never would again.

Arousal.

For the first time, they had managed to interest his body in the proceedings. It was the ultimate betrayal, and Lola knew it from the self-satisfied smirk she wore.

“Well, you’re not Nathan, but you’ll do, won’t you Junior?” She purred, stroking him almost gently as his cock gave a twitch, hardening in her grasp. The bitch knew what she was doing, he had to give her that.

“Guess you’re an expert on getting him off.” His smart mouth couldn’t help but say, at which point he was rewarded with sharp claws digging into sensitive flesh. But it was almost worth it, not to feel her stroking him like that. She waited until his cock was as hard as it could get, despite all the pain he was in, lining up her pussy and sinking down on him.

It was just a new form of pain, the cuts she had inflicted rubbing raw on her insides as she fucked herself up and down brutally, hard enough to rock the little bed. She poured the bottle in generous splashes over every inch of cut skin, her pussy squeezing around him every time he cried out in pain, the sick bitch.

He screamed until he tasted blood in his throat and writhed in agony, pulling violently against his handcuffs, which made her pour more there too, his wrists torn and bleeding but the least of his problems.

She was cackling as she rode him, clearly more amused than aroused, though he couldn’t say the same. It took her a long time to finish, a long time in which every thrust of her hips sent new waves of agony racing through him, his head cracking against the headboard as she bounced.

Finally, _finally,_ she must have cum, because he felt her seize up, a series of rhythmic flutters around his cock that threatened to send him into his own orgasm, but the pain was enough to drown out the pleasure, which he could only be grateful for.

Still chuckling, she pressed a forceful kiss to his lips, along with a whispered comment of how good he had felt, then she climbed off of him. Without a word, she left.

Neil was nothing more than an object to be used, tied to the bed for the next person to come along and play with him, he thought as he heard the loud clang of a heavy deadbolt sliding into place, and then he was alone.

 

***

_Two days._ It had been two solid days since Neil had been taken, and no one had seen hide or hair of him, or what state he was in, or even if he was still—

_Don’t go there, Minyard_ , Andrew told himself furiously. Of course the idiot was alive. He couldn’t imagine a world where he wasn’t.

It had taken him long moments to work what he had said with his, _“You were amazing,”_ bullshit, but once he had, he had run out after the self-sacrificing moron, only to trip over something that had been left on the ground.

Neil’s duffel bag.

Something he would have never left behind willingly.

That’s when Andrew knew something was wrong. Knew it in his very bones.

He pulled out his phone and called Wymack immediately, though he hated to rely on other people. He would do what he had to do to get Neil home where he belonged. The call rang out then went to voicemail.

“Call me back when you get this, you old bastard. It’s Josten. The idiot’s done something.” He snapped, then hung up, jamming his phone back into his pocket while he waited for it to ring.

The riot he had fought his way through to try to find him was probably still going strong. And then he remembered.

Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin.

He had left them to go chasing after Neil, trusting Renee to look after them.

But Neil wasn’t here anymore, and he couldn’t stand around waiting for his… whatever he was, to come back. He had to go and get him.

***

The Foxes wanted to call the police, but Kevin wouldn’t allow it.

Though he also wouldn’t say why, which led to Andrew cornering him with one of his knives pressed to his stomach.

“Spill, Day, before its your guts spilling out instead.” He snarled, having absolutely no patience since Neil was taken.

Kevin, eyes wide in alarm, had indeed spilled. Everything. From Neil’s true identity as Nathaniel Wesninski, son of the Baltimore butcher, to a few interesting tidbits about the Moriyamas.

Huh. So that’s why the coward was so afraid of them.

He put the knife away.

Then he went to bring the damn moron home.


	6. Daddy's Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, another chapter to make up for the long wait. Hope you have as much fun reading as I did writing it for all you lovelies out there!

Nathaniel was getting used to waking up to Nathan’s voice, but this time it was closer.

He opened his eyes to a dark bedroom, lit only by a small lamp, by which he could dimly make out his father’s figure as he stood over him, saying something.

“…be Daddy’s whore again, Nathaniel?”

He was _asking_ him.

The bastard was asking, which meant Nathaniel had to become complicit in his own rape and actually give him permission.

He _hated_ the sick fuck, even as he opened his mouth to respond, remembering the way he had been punished earlier for fighting back.

There was no choice, none at all.

He told himself that, but it didn’t make it better.

“…Yes, Daddy.”

“Good boy.”

He heard the mocking praise.

Felt him fumbling with the handcuffs, heard the click as they were released and pulled his hands back. The thought of running crossed his mind, but the knowledge that there was always more his father could do to him just when he was getting used to his horrors kept him in place.

Kept him compliant as the man lay down next to him, cataloguing the many ways he could end the bastard if given half a chance. Those handcuffs around his throat… The pillow over his face, smothering him while he kicked and struggled, letting him taste what desperation felt like for a change…

“Get up here and show me that you’re good for something, Natty-whore.”

He was resigned as he moved closer to his father across his childhood bed, the sheets some superhero the only concession that a child had actually lived here. He patted his lap, so Nathaniel slid himself across it, unable to suppress a shudder at the close contact of skin on skin. Disgusting.

He would shower until his skin peeled off and there was nothing but raw flesh left if he got out of this.

_If._

But it was seeming more and more unlikely with every passing hour.

“What are you waiting for?” That was Nathan, voice impatient as he yanked him closer, arranging him over his lap as he saw fit, with his ass resting on his clothed thighs. He heard the zipper in the darkness, felt the press of his cock against his already torn hole, and panicked.

No, not again… Wasn’t being raped twice enough?

But apparently not, as the man seated himself within him with one brutal thrust, drawing a scream.

“Move.” There was a rough slap to his ass as his brows wrinkled in confusion. Move? Move wh— Oh.

He got it after he ‘helped’ him a few times, moving him roughly up and down until he could do it on his own, which he did, trying not to scream again.

He didn’t want to give the fucker the satisfaction.

“Still so tight...” Nathan groaned. “You feel like a virgin again, Natty-whore…”

He smacked him on his ass, making him move faster, and when it apparently still wasn’t fast enough, tilted him back so he was sprawled across his chest without much leverage to move, using his thighs to force his wider as he fucked him violently.

Needless to say, Nathaniel screamed again.

“You’re not even good at this.” That was after he had slammed into him violently, grunting in frustration. Then he was pulling out of him, to his short-lived relief. “What do you do with that faggot of yours?”

He dumped him on the bedspread, turning him over onto his stomach and cuffing his hands to the headboard again.

“I was… we never… I was a virgin.” He told him, tried to explain, hoping to save Andrew from his wrath.

He didn’t count on much the perverted bastard would like that. He gave another cry as he thrust into him again, from behind this time, setting the same brutal pace that had him bracing his hands against the headboard to prevent his head from slamming into it.

“Yeah? How does it feel to know your Daddy took your virginity?” He asked as he leaned over his back, Nathaniel able to feel the rough scrape of clothing over his whipped and sliced up skin, but it was a minor discomfort at this point, compared to the pain of being fucked like this.

“Hurts, Daddy, please…” Nathaniel whined and begged, unsure of what the bastard wanted, but it was apparently that, because he growled and increased his pace, fucking into him so hard and fast that he hit the headboard anyway.

The room spun around him, the way he imagined a roller coaster might feel, Nathan’s thrusts jarring him before he stopped again. Then he was grinding into him instead, as if trying to get his balls into him too. God, Neil hoped not.

“Yeah, baby? Good… You deserve to hurt for what you did.” He snarled.

A few more rough grinds that had his body seizing up in agony and he was cumming, _inside of him,_ Nathaniel realized in horror, his semen burning his raw insides and making him scream.

No, oh god. He shuddered, feeling it drip out of him as he pulled out. Just when he thought he couldn’t be used, couldn’t be degraded further.

“What do you say, Junior?”

“Fuck you!” He was crying, sobbing, finally broken. His father’s seed… oh god, oozing out of him, was enough to shatter the last of his armor. That piece of him Nathan hadn’t been able to touch. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”

That was the wrong answer. He heard the rustle of fabric, then the crack of a belt against his abused skin, over and over.

Hitting him until he couldn’t even scream.

“Try again. What do you _say_ Junior?”

“Thank you, Daddy! Th-thank you for fucking me!” He shrieked, repeating the words until his voice cracked and he couldn’t speak, and then he just sobbed bitterly.

“Look at you, filthy whore. You made a mess on your bed.” He told him, smacking his abused ass one more time, fingers probing between his legs to touch the place he had just defiled. When that garnered no response, Nathan gave a satisfied chuckle at a job well done, and then he left.

Nathaniel tried to curl up as much as possible, body in so much pain he felt as if he would never be whole again.

Never escape.

Never see Andrew or any of the other Foxes.

This was his life now.


	7. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil is found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I have no excuse for my long absence, but there was definitely a lack of motivation to finish this story. Checking all the kudos and comments encouraged me to finally finish, so thank you everyone. This will be the last two chapters, though there is an opening for me to write more later on if I so choose.

Nathaniel felt as if he had just fallen asleep when there was a loud crash, right outside his door.

Followed by another, and another.

“Take it off its damn hinges if you have to.”

Two gunshots rang out, and another crash, and then a familiar voice was speaking.

“Jesus Christ, Nathaniel. What has the bastard done to you?”

“Get the hell out of my way. I doubt your ugly face is the first thing he wants to see when he wakes up.”

There was a grunt of pain, then the sound of cursing as someone pushed their way to the front, and then Neil was looking up into features he knew as well as his own by this point.

_Andrew._

Andrew had found him.

“Hey, I’m gonna get you outta here, you hear me?” He told him, sounding uncharacteristically grave as he looked down at him, apparently not liking whatever he saw because there was a tightening of his features, an almost imperceptible shake of his head as he swore.

“Where the fuck are the keys to these fucking things?”

Nathaniel caught a few muttered words, something about a body.

“Neil, look at me.” That was Andrew again, cutting through his panic at having men crowd so close, making him stop struggling against the handcuffs. “Hold still for a second longer, I promise I will get you out of here, okay?”

“I wish I could resurrect the bastard and kill him again.” Another familiar voice said, and Nathaniel was surprised to see his uncle Stuart, though he thought he had heard him before.

“If only.” Andrew agreed darkly, then they all sat in silence and waited.

For what became apparent when one of his uncle’s men came back with a key, which Andrew used to unlock the cuffs but didn’t otherwise touch him, leaving him alone on the bed even as he reached out to him with a whimper. Why wouldn’t Andrew touch him?

“No, please…” Was that his voice whining like that?

“Neil, I can’t touch you. There isn’t a _fucking_ square inch of you intact, and I can’t touch you, so don’t ask me to, shut the fuck up, and let me help you.” He snapped, while his uncle left the room and returned with a blanket, which he draped around his naked, battered body, making him newly aware of what condition they were seeing him in.

“Call an ambulance.”

“But, the Moriyamas—”

“Call a fucking ambulance, or there won’t be anything left of him _for_ the Moriyamas, you damn stubborn idiot. I see where he gets it from.” That was Andrew, alright, calling the shots even when surrounded by a group of gun-toting gangsters, Neil thought, and laughed hysterically.

They called an ambulance.

Uncle Stuart stayed long enough to threaten Andrew with an excruciatingly painful death if anything happened to Nathaniel. (“You mean anything _else,_ right?”) then he left, taking all his men with him.

Andrew never moved from his bedside the entire time they waited for the ambulance to arrive, and refused to move even when the room was filled with EMTs and the police.

“Young man, you need to—”

“Where he goes, I go. I’m not leaving him.” There must have been something in his face to convince the EMTs, because they left him alone after that, working around him to lift Nathaniel onto a stretcher.

He was right at his side as they left the house, being wheeled past bodies being covered with black tarps. There was blood splattered everywhere, the house for once appearing as if Nathan Wesninski had lived there.

But no longer.

He saw the body on their way out, throat slashed and those once menacing blue eyes wide with surprise.

***

The trip to the hospital from the Baltimore house was a blur of loud sirens and pain killers for Nathaniel and an endless hell ride for Andrew, who glared at anyone who dared touch him.

'He's mine.' He said through posture and expression, insomuch as a person could when they were sitting in a cramped ambulance watching EMTs fuss over his... teammate.

And his very injured teammate at that.

What Drake had done to him paled in comparison to the broken shell of a human being that had been waiting on the other side of the reinforced steel door.

Tea-and-Crumpets (one of Andrew's least insulting names for Neil's uncle) was stubbornly following behind, refusing to leave his beloved nephew alone for long.

Andrew watched his black town car weave in and out of sight of the tiny ambulance windows, wondering when the fuck they would just _get there already._

Wasn't this life or death? Why wasn't he speeding? Doing something?

Weren't they trained specifically to drive through traffic? The so-called skilled emergency driver couldn't navigate through it all with his blaring sirens, people heading home from a long day of working their average, boring jobs that no one gave a fuck about.

Average, boring people who couldn't imagine torturing a young boy to the edge of death like this.

The sight of his... of Neil, or Nathaniel, or whatever the fuck he wanted to call himself, laying on that dirty mattress naked and too broken to cry, stuck in his mind like a spike, something he would never be rid of for as long as he lived.

Broken. It had never been a word he could apply to the boy before, he thought, with an uncharacteristic stab of guilt, as if Neil could hear him.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a sudden louder commotion, the EMTs beginning to shout technical terms that whizzed right over his head, but he gathered enough to know it sounded serious.

"Can't you get there any faster?" He snapped, helpless to do anything but watch as they hooked Neil's suddenly unconscious body to even more machines, all of which began wailing, adding to the cacophony as they finally screeched to a halt outside the hospital.

Andrew slid out of his chair, the stretcher holding Neil rocking back and forth roughly before the doors were opened and he was being literally _sprinted_ inside.

Andrew took a running leap out of the ambulance, pitching forward slightly due to his short stature before hurrying after him.

He was _his._ Where Neil Josten went, Andrew Minyard would follow.

Except into the operating room, as it would turn out.

And no one wanted to explain anything to him either.

 

***

"What the fuck do you mean he won't wake up?" Andrew crushed his flimsy styrofoam cup in his hand, sending coffee spraying everywhere.

No one, not even Kevin, dared to say a word.

To their left, Neil's uncle was barking into his phone, before deciding to simply hang up on the person he was talking to.

"If you lack the facilities necessary to care for him--" He began, but the nurse cut him off, shaking her head. "Sir, we are doing everything we can for Mr. Josten at this time. However, we ran into an unexpected... complication."

Nicky spoke up then, startling Andrew as he had forgotten about his cousin for a while. "What kind of complication? What aren't you telling us?" His tanned skin was washed out under the hospital lights, making him appear pale and drawn. Worried.

"We were forced to sedate Mr. Josten, as he is a danger to himself. We did not anticipate his system having a negative reaction to the treatment. We've done our best to stabilize him, but we won't know anything until he wakes--if--"

"Don't. You dare." Before he could do anything to suitably threaten her as she mentioned the possibility that Neil would... die, he felt a hand land on his shoulder, shaking him roughly and preventing him from advancing on her. He had even less of a chance against Kevin, who had more than a foot on him and was used to grappling with exy players, stood up to help.

The nurse hurried away with one more apologetic glance at Andrew, while Kevin and Aaron refused to let him go in case he started swinging or worse, stabbing.

"No, you moron, you're no good to us, to Neil, if you get arrested for assault." The 'again' was unspoken but heavily implied in his twin's voice as Andrew snarled viciously and fought to free himself from their grasp.

He wanted to rail and storm at the whole world for allowing this to happen to Neil.

At the one who had hurt him, at Aaron and Kevin for holding him back, and most of all at the stupid fucking anesthesia for all the sense that made.

"You sure are violent for a midget." Uncle Asshole commented as he seemed to finally deflate, so they let him go, allowing him to yank away and glare at them both, hell, at them all.

"But they're right in that there's nothing. we. can do. So get that through your thick Cro-Magnon skull, have a cuppa, and shut the fuck up for god's sakes, you're giving me a headache." Funny how his accent could make even the crudest words sound refined, he thought, as everyone sat again.

Except Kevin, who stood next to him uncertainly, hazel eyes darting around as if expecting to see the Moriyamas after him now that Neil was in the hospital.

Andrew wanted to hit him for it, but he had already left finger-shaped bruises around his throat while they were trying to find Neil, so he didn't.

All the while, no one said a word, not even Nicky.

What words were there to say, anyway? Either Neil would wake up, or... No, Neil would wake up, he insisted.

They sat in the uncomfortable plastic waiting room chairs for most of the night, Kevin eventually sitting down again and curling up with his phone across two chairs.

He was just trying to decide whether the clock on the wall above the reception desk had stopped ticking when the door marked "Emergency Room staff only" slowly creaked open.

Everything seemed frozen in time as the doctor approached them.

They all watched her, except Kevin, who had finally drifted off. He woke up when Andrew elbowed him though, jerking upright with a confused snort that normally would have amused him.

As it was, his attention was fixed on the doctor.

His uncle was the first one on his feet, putting away his phone as he stared at the woman expectantly.

"Mr. Josten's condition has stabilized. He's starting to wake up, but we're not currently accepting any visitors except for family."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took liberties with the medical stuff, as I'm sure you will notice. In the future, I strive to write medically accurate fics, but not today.


	8. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil comes home to his Foxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Neil felt as if he was floating on a cloud, weightless and entirely free of worry.

Was this what death was like?

 If it was, he should have died sooner, he thought, wanting to stay where he was forever. But he heard loud voices that pulled him from the lovely clouds.

And dumped him right back into reality.

The voices speaking over him were vaguely familiar, but they didn't inspire fear the way Nathan did.

What did frighten him was the way his body didn't respond to attempts to move, Neil trying to sit up and open his eyes, but nothing happened.

"--was alive I'd kill him all over again." One of those voices was whispering loudly.

"Shut up, the doctor said he can hear you."

The voice was like the sun cutting through the clouds, penetrating the fog in his head as he forced his body to cooperate.

He opened his eyes.

Andrew was the first thing he saw.

All five feet of him, blurry as anything but still recognizable as he glared down at him with hatred.

"Eight hundred percent. Hell, make that nine-ninety-nine. You can't go any fuckin' higher, Josten." He snapped.

"Nathaniel, how are you feeling?" That was his uncle Stuart, expression twisted into a worried frown that he could see even through his blurry vision.

"Ali-alive." His voice was croaky, his throat scratchy and so sore that he could barely speak. "Why are you here?"

"Why? Why are we _here?_ " Andrew slammed his hands into the wall violently, making Neil jump and his uncle glare at him. "We're here, because you're a self-sacrificing _moron_ who's lucky that he's too wounded for me to beat the absolute _shit_ out of him. So yes. That's why we're here." He was breathing heavily by the time he finished speaking.

"If you can't control yourself, perhaps you should go wait with the other children in the nursery--" Stuart suggested, though the nurse came back in before Andrew could retaliate.

"There will be no fighting in here, this is a hospital, for sick people, and if neither of you can handle that, I'll be forced to call security." She strode to Neil's bedside, effectively shutting the two out behind a curtain.

"I'm going to take your vitals, alright, sweetie?" The tough but kind nurse told him, doing so quickly, though she didn't open the curtain afterwards.

"If they're too much for you--"

"No." Neil interrupted quickly, "No, they're family."

Patting him sympathetically on the top of his hand, one of the few places he was both injury and bandage free, she then bustled off.

But not without a warning glare for Stuart and Andrew that neither seemed impressed by.

Neil, for his part, thought that he was still dreaming. He was expecting to wake up back in the Baltimore house at any moment.

It couldn't be over.

Not that easily.

Could it?

 

***

It was over. He had spoken to the police and the FBI and the doctor had signed his discharge papers, though she had been rather unwilling.

He goes home.

All of the Foxes showed up as an honor guard of sorts, Wymack and Abby driving them in a yellow bus that Andrew took one look at and refused.

So they piled into his car, Andrew and Neil in the front and Kevin, Aaron and Nicky in the backseat. There was also a wheelchair for "when he stops being a stubborn ass" that he had been forced into accepting by the hospital staff.

Andrew and Kevin transfer him back into the hated chair and wheel him into the elevator of their building, overriding all protests.

The rest of the Foxes seemingly wanted to stick around, but Andrew sent them away. All but Wymack and Abby, and even they serve to make him uncomfortable.

They situate him on the sofa with blankets wrapped around him and the TV remote within reach, though he left it off, preferring to stare at a blank screen.

It's smothering, is what it is.

No one spoke either. They all just stared at him until Andrew cleared his throat noisily, gesturing impatiently to the door.

"Neil, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask, okay? Andrew has my cell number." Abby.

"We're going to talk about this, after you recover. Okay, kid?" Wymack.

Then they both left.

Andrew sat on the coffee table next to him, everyone else disappearing into the back bedrooms.

"Neil--

"Andrew--"

They both spoke at the same time, before going silent to let the other finish. Then they stayed silent.

Neil waved a heavily bandaged hand, encouraging him to speak.

"I know what it's like. To go through this shit. It sucks." He told him. "Everyone smothers you. Asks if they can help. As if they can. It's fucking awful is what it is."

He shook his head slightly, then went on, "So what I'm trying to say is... If you ever want everyone to fuck off, including me... Just say the word."

"Thanks, Andrew." Neil made himself say, though he didn't feel much like speaking. A fact Andrew picked up on, as he left him alone after that.

He did turn on the TV before he left the room though, intercepting Nicky on his way to do some smothering of his own.

"Back in the bedroom. Neil's not seeing anyone right now."

Nicky protested, but Neil heard Andrew making quiet threats, and he withdrew.

Andrew came to sit next to him, though he groaned as he saw the exy game on the screen.

"Really? You're not tired of exy yet?" He wanted to know, grabbing the remote and changing the tv.

There were two men and they seemed to be fighting, one with a metal arm and the other a big, stupid-looking shield.

It was weird, but Neil watched it, unwilling to speak.

They sat through that entire movie, which ended with the cyborg assassin recognizing the shield-wielding man and dragging him out of water before he could drown.

The whole thing was confusing, especially when Neil was barely paying attention.

"Did you like it?"

Neil blinked, as Andrew wasn't one for small talk.

"What?"

"The movie. Did you like it? You should've, it's about a self-sacrificing moron like you. In the first one he crashes a plane into icy water." Andrew continued, glowering at him slightly. "Sound familiar?"

"Andrew..."

"We're going to talk about it at some point, Neil, it might as well be right fucking now." He snapped, apparently unable to stand the silence anymore.

"Andrew--"

"How was I supposed to keep up my end of the deal and protect you if you purposely go _looking_ for shit to hurt you?" He gestured angrily, though he stopped immediately when Neil flinched, making an obvious effort to control himself.

"Why didn't you tell me? All that time we were playing that truth game. Was any of it even the truth?--"

"Yes." He finally interrupted, going on before he could say anything else, "It was all the truth. I never lied to you, well, more than I had to."

Andrew gave a tired sigh at that, then nodded, changing the tv back to the exy game.

Silence reigned between the two for a long time before Neil finally spoke again.

"I did it to protect you. All of you. My father's people were in the room, threatening to kill you. I couldn't just, sit there and let it happen, especially when it was my fault."

"Self-sacrificing moron." Andrew scolded again, but Neil didn't reply. He sat on his side of the sofa, wrapped in blankets like a shock victim on a cop show. He didn't dare cross the line in the cushions that seperated them, even when his aching and battered body could do with a change in position.

Andrew must have known somehow, though, because he got up without a word and came back with a pillow.

"Here. Lay down." He told him abruptly, dropping the pillow where he had been sitting. "I'll get you water. It's time for another dose of drugs anyway."

He bustled off to the kitchen and returned with two small white pills and a glass of water.

"Gotta take 'em with food, so what do you want?"

"Not hungry."

"Bullshit." He countered immediately, while Neil glared half-heartedly from the couch. He hadn't laid down, apparently too stubborn to do so.

"I'll make you a slice of toast. Eat it, take your meds, then lay the fuck down and go to sleep. I'm not going anywhere." Andrew promised him quietly, a terrible knowledge there of just how he felt about sleeping, about being at his most vulnerable.

Neil swallowed back a lump of emotion and only nodded, not trusting himself to speak for fear he might break down.

Nathan had mentioned Andrew. Had spoken about him while he...

Raped him.

He scrambled up off the sofa without his crutches and sprinted into the bathroom, nearly losing his footing several times.

He knelt down, and his last liquid meal came up before he could even get the toilet seat up, the vomit splashing his own feet as his entire body clenched violently.

He had closed his eyes, but he opened them again to stare down at what he had puked up, and was promptly sick again.

It was white and cloudy. White like...

He threw up until his stomach was empty, all over himself, barely finding the energy to be disgusted as he sat down hard on the bathroom tiles.

Oh god, what if it was still inside of him?

What if--

"Neil?" That was Andrew, interrupting his panicked thoughts to hit him with the bathroom door as he forced it open.

"Fuck." He muttered under his breath, staring down at the mess for a moment before kneeling next to him, avoiding the pools of vomit by sheer luck.

"Alright, Neil, it's okay, you don't have to eat right now." His voice was gentle again, and Neil immediately hated it.

"C'mere." He grabbed his arm and gently helped him to his feet, leading him over to the sink so they could try to clean up the worst of the puke.

 "Are you still nauseous?"

"I'm f--"

"If you say fine..." Andrew threatened, knuckles whitening where they held the towel he was using to clean him up.

Neil felt guilty about the mess he had made, both the vomit and everything else that had happened.

"Still nauseous." He admitted with a put-upon sigh.

"There." Andrew muttered to himself while he worked. "Was that so hard?"

"What's going on in here? We heard--Oh no, Neil, are you okay?" That was Nicky's concerned voice, frowning as he took in the state of the bathroom.

"I'll clean this up, Andrew, just get Neil comfortable." He volunteered, Neil experiencing another stab of guilt over forcing him to clean his nasty white puke.

He couldn't remember feeling guilty so much before the Foxes. Before Andrew.

Before the Foxes, Neil never would have voluntarily walked into a violent situation like that, particularly when it involved his father.

It was probably the pain meds making him feel loopy, he thought, as Andrew led him to the bedroom and helped him lay down, but he had found something worth fighting for, this time. Something that was worth every moment of pain that he had endured: a home.

 


End file.
